Mack chooses a table in the middle and tucks her bag under her feet. No one else brought their stuff in except the walking toothpaste commercial, who is clutching her purse as though it’s a life preserver. But then, odds are no one else has everything they own in a single duffel bag.
A man with thick forearms, fuzzy with dark gray hair that’s missing from his head, comes out from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a greasy apron. “Hey-oh, look at this crew! Let me guess: You want gluten-free options. How about a cruelty-free, free-range piece of avocado toast? The avocados were raised in a hippie commune and sung to sleep every night, and they were never allowed to be friends with a single piece of gluten.” He laughs at his own joke.
Rebecca raises her hand politely. “Actually, I have food allergies, and—”
The man waves dismissively. “Imaginary. Your generation, honestly. In my day, you know how many kids were allergic to peanuts? None! Now everyone is so sensitive. Sensitive to this, sensitive to that. Grow a pair and learn how to eat like an adult!” He delivers it all with the cadence of a well-practiced speech.
Rebecca’s smile doesn’t shift, and she hasn’t lowered her hand. “I could literally die if I eat tree nuts or shellfish, or anything that has come into contact with them.”
“And yet here you are! Still not dead!”
“Gary,” Linda says in a singsong tone. “We know about Rebecca’s allergies. A separate breakfast has been prepared. Remember? Ask Ray.”
Gary lets out a dismissive burst of air from his incongruously full and red lips. “Right. Fine. Anyone else need special care for their special bowels? Hmm? I know it’s hard to leave Mommy’s basement and come out into the real world.”
“Gary.”
He raises his hands, grinning. “I kid, I kid. These young folks can take a joke, right?”
“For the record, I live in my parents’ garage, not their basement,” Jaden mugs. Gary laughs, clapping him on the shoulder.
“I like this one. Would you feel the muscles on this guy? Wow!” Gary squeezes Jaden’s shoulder, then nods. “I know who my money’s on.”
“You’re allowed to bet?” beautiful Ava asks.
“No,” Linda snaps. She takes a deep breath, and her smile goes back into place. “No, but some people in the town will naturally take an interest. It’s the biggest thing to happen here in years. Now, will you please take their orders so we can get down to business?”
Gary grumbles. “We built an international chain from the ground up, a global dining phenomenon, but sure, yeah, I’ll take orders like a little waitress.” His scowl is carved into his face, but he gets to work.
“Hey, who’s Ray Callas?” Brandon chirps, looking up from where he’s reading a framed magazine article about the small-town diner that took over the world. Another older man pauses where he was coming out of the kitchen.
“Me,” he says.
“My dad’s last name is Callas. What a coincidence! Maybe we’re related.” Brandon beams, eager and genuinely excited by the connection, but Ray shakes his head.
“No.” Without further comment, Ray helps Gary distribute glasses of water and well-loved menus.
Mack orders pancakes and eggs and bacon and sausage and toast and fruit and orange juice. Gary raises a bushy eyebrow. “You got an appetite.” He leans closer. “You a boy or a girl? How am I supposed to tell with this?” He gestures at her neutral haircut and her baggy clothes.
“Maybe people don’t owe you their gender,” Ava says, slinging herself into the chair next to Mack.
“Oh god, save me from lesbians with opinions. Did you ever think you just needed to find the right man?” Gary’s smile is both predatory and aggressive. “You know, back in my day we didn’t decide we didn’t need gender or marriage or procreation. We accepted how God made us without forcing our opinions on everyone around us. We also got jobs and worked honest days and moved out of our parents’ houses before we were forty.”
“Cool story, man,” Ava says. “Tell me about how you walked uphill to school both ways, twenty miles in the snow, and how going to school didn’t put you in six-figure debt, and how your first house cost less than a car, and then I’ll tell you a story about how your generation fucked mine over.”
Something hard and cold shifts in his smile, and his manner of speech changes from the well-worn regurgitations of what he’s read on Facebook. “You’re going out early. I can tell. You should respect your elders. I’m a veteran.”